• The TMF is sponsored by Clips4sale - By supporting them, you're supporting us.
  • >>> If you cannot get into your account email me at [email protected] <<<
    Don't forget to include your username

The TMF is sponsored by:

Clips4Sale Banner

Light and Lazy (mf/f)

Kid Indy

TMF Expert
Joined
Oct 12, 2001
Messages
365
Points
18
This one is a request from a TMF user. Enjoy!

Light and Lazy (mf/f)

by

Kid Indy

The sounds she remembered were the voices echoing off the empty seats as she walked out towards the mats in the vast empty arena. Marie had been to NCAA gymnastics meets, just as a thousand aspiring gymnasts before, and she could imagine the sea of red cheering her on as her music started and the floor routine got under way. She knew they wanted to see her perform in this big a space to see whether she would choke in the giant space.

As if the sound tech was inside her mind, her own music began to echo around the cavernous stadium. The atmospheric opening notes came to her once from the speakers, then more faintly from the empty seats. She began to dance out towards the corner of the floor, and as the drums brought in the big opening hit, bars before Axl Rose welcomed everyone to the jungle, Marie charged across the springy mats as she had rehearsed a hundred times, preparing for the first tumbling pass that would convince the University of Nebraska gymnastics program that she was their next competitor.

* * * * * * *

After Marie showered and changed into street clothes, she met with the head coach in a spacious office. The questions came to the big one quickly: “Why do you want to compete for Nebraska rather than any other NCAA program?”

She knew full well: the woman sitting in front of her had been the U.S. Olympic team’s assistant coach just three years before, and in her wake two Olympians and three more alternates who just missed the Olympic team had joined. They were poised to become the dominant force in NCAA gymnastics for years, and she wanted in on that. But she knew better than to frame things in terms of national titles, since she was not herself a national powerhouse.

“I think I can contribute to a very competitive team, and my work on the vault especially could bring consistent good scores to Nebraska’s meets.”

“You’re eighteen years old. That’s pretty standard for a freshman coming onto the team, but you’ve not lived much life. What makes you think you can bring your best when it counts, when the team needs you?”

“I’ve competed on the national stage since I was in middle school. I’ve faced the pressure and stuck the landings.”

The coach nodded. She leaned in across the desk. “Do you think you can handle the day-to-day of being a college athlete? It’s not as easy as middle school here.”

“You’ve seen my high school transcripts, Coach. I can study and train as well as anyone.”

“Good. Now what do you know about the relationships between NCAA gymnastics programs and corporate sponsors?”

“Coach?”


“I ask because, honestly, you weren’t even on our radar before this summer’s regional meets, but Charlie and Miranda Thomas, of Rose Technologies, sent me videos of those competitions, and that’s what got you today’s showing.”

“I hope you like what you see today.”

“I do like what I see today. You’re naturally athletic, you’ve had good coaches, and your personality comes through on your floor routines.” Marie’s grin beamed across the desk, and her inability to hide her joy was charming even to the coach who had seen everything.

“But NCAA gymnastics is a little different from high school or even club gymnastics--we’re always competing with the football team for Athletic Association funding, which means that we have to get a good deal of our money from private donors like Rose Tech. Are you willing to make appearances for them at fundraisers and parties? That’s part of NCAA life that will be new for you.”

The coach was talking as if Marie were the buyer and Nebraska was the seller--she could almost see herself in the Nebraska lineup. “When is the party?”

The coach nodded and smiled. “This Saturday night. You’ll be wearing a new Rose Tech biomonitor dress and Rose Tech comfort boots. That means you’ll need to get a pedicure before then.”

Marie’s eyes narrowed. “But don’t they know that--”

The coach’s hand went up. “I know. I tried to tell them. But look at it this way: they get to show off their new no-calluses boots with their favorite new gymnast, and between now and our first practice in July, you can get your calluses back in the gym and on the track. But this event is going to bring serious, new-equipment money in for the program, and you’re the main attraction.”

Marie didn’t like this, but she also wasn’t going to turn down a shot at NCAA glory over a pedicure. “Where are some good nail salons around here?”

“We’ve already got you booked. You’ll go with one of our managers as soon as you’re done here.”

Marie decided to test the waters. “What if I had said no?”

The coach smiled again. “Would I have booked already if you were going to say no?”

* * * * * * *

Seeing her future teammates in their evening gowns took some of the edge off as Marie walked into the gigantic hotel ballroom. She could tell that the same designer had a hand in all of them: the sharp, graphic looks and the strong color-blocks highlighted the athletic bodies as they mingled with the middle-aged donors. Her feet still tingled from the pedicure--she had never known how ticklish her feet could get when someone was paying them that kind of attention, and she did not relish the moment later in the night when people would be looking at them.

Laura, one of the team’s sophomores, took Marie by the arm as she made her way across the room. “You’ve just got to meet Miranda. She’s been talking about you for weeks.” They made their way to a woman, in her thirties by her looks, talking with two other middle-aged women. All three turned as Marie approached.

“Marie! I’m so glad I finally get to meet you!”

“Mrs. Thomas, thank you for inviting me to this party.”

“Mrs. Thomas! Kiddo, don’t talk to me like I’m your math teacher! I’m Miranda, and I’ve been watching you! I’m so glad that Coach Mason brought you in to have a look!” The woman’s bright red lipstick made her teeth positively flash, and her eyes sparkled with charm and maybe menace as she looked over Marie. “How do you like your gown this evening? I designed it with you in mind!”

Marie looked down at her dress again, looked up into Miranda’a dancing eyes, and blushed. “Thank you for the dress as well, Mrs.--”

Miranda Thomas’s hand flew to Marie’s face, and a single finger lit on her lips. “Now, now, Marie! You don’t want to call me that twice, does she, Laura?” Now she was almost leering at Laura, who giggled nervously.

“That’s right, Marie. You want Miranda on your good side!”

“Smart girl, Laura! Now Marie, be sure that you’re available when it’s time to show off your new gown and your new boots!”

“My gown?”

“Of course, dear! NCAA rules prohibit payment for competition, but models always get to take home what they wear to fashion shows!”

Marie looked at Miranda Thomas suspiciously.

Miranda looked down at the thick bracelets on Marie’s wrists. “The jewelry either. What do you think of the bracers, Marie? Too Wonder Woman?”

Marie blushed. “I think they’re great.” She looked around at her teammates and saw that they also had the same bracers--now she knew the word--that covered several inches of forearm above their wrists. “And we all get to keep them?”

Laura chimed in: “You never have to buy your own party clothes as long as Miranda is around. She was a New York designer before she married Mr. Thomas.”

Marie once again looked down, and she felt herself blush again. “Thank you!”

“Oh, Marie, we’re going to be great friends while you’re on this team!”

There it was again--people seemed to assume that she was already in! Marie let Laura pull her away, and they met more donors, more teammates, and more people. Then Marie heard applause start to sweep the room, and she looked to see a man holding a microphone. His suit was sharp, and although the gray in his beard revealed some years, he looked good in a suit, and Marie couldn’t help but imagine what lay in store for Miranda when the party was over.

He gestured over towards Marie, and she could feel the room’s eyes on her. “Tonight we welcome Marie, our newest Husker gymnast, who’s wearing our newest Rose Tech biomonitor dress and comfort boots. As you can see, Miranda has outdone herself on this collection, giving the fashion world stylish footwear that nonetheless keeps the feet as healthy as athletic shoes--these boots won’t leave a callus or leave your feet hurting all night!”

Marie couldn’t disagree--these were the most comfortable boots that she had ever worn.

“Marie, come up here and let the people meet our newest teammate!”

Marie’s magnetism was undeniable: her girlish grin became irresistible when she entered the spotlight and her head ducked just a bit and her eyes squinted to see the people in the room. She waved a nervous hand at the crowds, and their applause for her only drew out more of her blushing appeal.

“Marie, what does it feel like to join the future NCAA champion team?”

There it was--in public! Marie’s grin drew the whole room in. “It feels great, Mr. Thomas! I didn’t even know I had made the team until you told me!”

“Well, then, let’s congratulate Marie, everybody! Let’s hear it!” The room filled with cheering sounds, and Marie’s hands went to her face, covering her mouth in a kind of praying gesture as her eyes glittered with excitement. “Now Marie, let’s let the people see what you’re wearing! Can you step up on this platform so that we can see you?”

Marie gave him a flirting smirk as she looked up at him. The “platform” was a step-stool, about eight inches off the ground, and when she did step on it, she was still shorter than him, but it was closer.

When both feet were on the platform, a strange feeling shot through her legs. She tried to pick up a foot to get away from the electric tingle, but her boot would not lift. Her balance, honed through years of practice, kept her upright, but the stool started to tilt, and she was grateful when Charlie’s hands steadied her.

“Can we get some help here? Marie seems to be a bit unsteady up there!” The people laughed, and Marie tried to laugh along. But her attempts to play along cut short as she felt something make impact with the bracer on her left hand. She looked down to see that a chromed sphere had attached itself to the metal of her jewelry, and as soon as she saw that, she felt the same thump on her other wrist. Charlie stepped back, and her balance started to go again, but this time her wrists, led by the bracers, traveled slowly towards the ceiling. She looked up to see that thin steel cables led from her bracers to the frame on which the speakers and lights were mounted. Even more distressing, the platform started to separate, moving her feet past her shoulder width but then stopping, leaving her feeling the room’s cool air between her thighs. With her feet fixed on the separated platforms and her wrists above her, she stood in a sort of triangle, and her face became a pantomime of distress and confusion.

“What are you doing? What is this?”

Charlie began once more to talk to the audience: “As you know, Rose Technologies is interested in combining medical breakthroughs with a sense of real New York style. You can see the style in this gown--doesn’t she wear it beautifully?” The crowd once again applauded.

“Let me out of this thing!”

Charlie grinned as he looked at her. “She wants me to let her out of this thing, Nebraska fans! And that’s what RoseTech has made possible with the new Fashion Emergency gown--if the lady becomes a patient, whether because of an automobile crash or some other medical emergency, one press of a button on her keychain can free her up for immediate medical attention!”

Marie’s eyebrows raised in confusion, then in alarm as Charlie Thomas pulled a keychain from his suit’s pocket. He held up a fob for the audience to see, then pressed the button. Marie began to panic as she felt panels of the dress depart her skin. Like the petals of their namesake rose, the pieces of fabric dropped to the ground around her, leaving her only with her boots--which were still making her legs tingle--and her white cotton underwear.

“Please! Let me out of here!”

“But Marie, you just joined the team! And as your fans know, there’s a special celebration that we have to welcome new teammates to the Cornhuskers!”

Marie only heard mumbling at first from the crowd, but as they synchronized in their chant, the words became distinct: “Light and lazy, girlie crazy!”

“What?”

“Light and lazy, girlie crazy!
Light and lazy, girlie crazy!
Light and lazy girlie crazy!”

Marie looked to her new teammates for support, but they only smirked at their young counterpart. She looked at Charlie, who was gesturing to her like a game-show prize, and started to plead again, when suddenly her voice shot through the roof and her hips twisted against the boots’ fixed points. Something was touching her sides!

She twisted her neck around as best she could to see that Miranda Thomas was standing behind her, those red-painted fingertips scratching at the sides of her belly from both sides.

“Stop that!”

Charlie once again addressed the crowd. “Ooh, I think we’ve got a sensitive one tonight!”

Now the fingers started to work at her sides, slowly tracing eight paths deliberately, deliciously across the surface of her skin. Her hips twisted as much as the magnetized boots would allow, but there wasn’t much room for maneuver, and she squealed as the hands made their way up to the bottom of her bra, then down to her panty line, then back again, each time tracing new paths up her sides, down the outsides of her belly, down towards her navel, up across her hips and up to her ribs.

Marie never remembered a moment when she decided whether or not to laugh: the sensations on her sides were overwhelming to a girl who had always been able to cover up, swat hands away, even run from this kind of play. Instead, the fingers kept tracing, and she heard herself start to giggle at them. Although she could not make out faces in the darkness beyond the spotlight, she felt like she could feel a rising tension in the room as an occasional grunt of approval interrupted the quiet, then the satisfied purr of a woman somewhere else, then more quiet. She shut her eyes against the tickling, but the fingernails kept doing their work, and the endless, slow tickling, between her bra and her panties, was consuming her mind.

She let out a scream as a new sensation joined the fingernails, and the sounds of the audience laughing accompanied a sight that terrified her: now, joining Miranda’s torturing fingers, Charlie had silently joined his wife on stage, a stiff, red feather in each hand. She had felt what one of those feathers could do under her left arm, and she wished that she could only pull that arm down for a moment to cover her ticklish skin. But soon enough, he swiped the other feather across the skin under her right arm, and again she shrieked in tickled alarm. Like Miranda, he was in no hurry, and the terrible anticipation of each feather’s approach, coupled with Miranda’s continued attention to her midsection, made her ticklish like she could never remember being ticklish.

Time had no meaning for the young gymnast as they kept tickling, varying only slightly so that her skin never got accustomed to any ticklish spot, but never breaking their terrifying, intentional, slow pace. She could tell herself that awaiting the next ticklish pass of Miranda’s fingers, the next electric swipe of Charlie’s feather was worse than the tickling, but no matter what she told herself, ach one sent her resolve fleeing into the room’s shadows and her voice rising into giggles and squeals and laughter.

When they did stop, Marie was not sure how long they had stopped, though she felt as though she would have noticed. What she did see was that Miranda had pulled up a stool behind her and was sitting with her face level with her lower back, and Charlie was beginning to walk around to the front of her. Her head was swimming with the sensations of a long tickle already, so she had no awareness left to issue an articulate protest. She could only watch as Charlie took one hand’s feather and began to twirl it between two fingers, watch as the spinning blade approached her navel.

“No! No!”

But Charlie was not interested in “No.” The feather made contact with the skin around her belly button, and Marie’s head rocked back as the quickly-moving feather-blade teased her flesh. Then, with her eyes closed, she could feel the other feather’s blade touch the inside of her knee, then creep up her inner thigh. Her laughter’s pitch rose as the feather’s did, summiting in a squeal as the feather trailed off across her panties. Her legs had always been ticklish, but this was something different: with that electric feeling still coming from her boots, her inner thighs were so sensitive that her abdomen, her muscular bottom, everything between her knees and her navel tightened up, pulsed with an energy that she had never known before. She wanted to beg, but the spinning feather kept going three rotations one direction, three the other. And the traveling feather was starting to explore her other thigh, and all she could do was laugh and squeal at its approach.

In the next instant Marie learned not to think that things can’t get worse: suddenly those eight fingers that had sent her out of her body as they tickled her midsection now started to claim territory on the backs of her knees. The feather on her thighs was heating her up where not even the audience could see, but these fingers were something else: they had her laughing hard, so that her muscles were starting to get tired, but on top of that they turned up the volume on the thigh-feather, so that she started genuinely to fear that she might ruin the underwear that was her only source of privacy.

And once again the anticipation heightened the touch: when one feather finished its pass, Marie had to watch as the next approached her knee, then moan through her own laughter as it took its time making a way up her inner leg.

When she thought that finally her body would give way and climax there in front of all those people, the feathers and the fingernails stopped. Now the audience got to see her face take on another kind of torment, the longing for just a few more moments so that she could enjoy the finish. But judging by Charlie’s and Miranda’s faces, that was not on the menu tonight.

Charlie once again took up the microphone. “You know about RoseTech’s fallaway dresses. And this year we’re adding to those dresses a new line of foot-care boots. You know how tired your feet get and how rough they can feel. But not in our boots! With their normal software, these RoseTech boots keep your feet comfortable and smooth no matter how long you walk. But with tonight’s special modifications, young Marie’s feet and legs, once we take these boots off, are going to be more ticklish than they’ve ever been!”

The audience hooted in approval.


“And if you make a donation at the thousand-dollar level tonight, we’ll send you the patch for that software!”

Again cheers. Marie looked down at her feet, still anchored to the split platform, and pulled with everything she had at the ropes above her head. Nothing.

“Gentlemen, can you bring the V-seat?”

V-seat? Marie looked offstage in panic as two stagehands wheeled what looked like a surgeon’s guerney towards her on the stage. With precision and efficiency that were terrifying to the young gymnast, one positioned the wheeled platform just to the side of her, and each of the other two lifted the halves of the platform off the ground. Marie tried to kick away from them, but the halves of the platform were heavy, and the men were big. What landed under her was something like a swingset seat, but with more padding, and she didn’t have to use much imaMarietion to realize that it left everything from her upper thighs to the tops of her boots open for anyone to touch her legs.

Miranda walked over and unzipped one boot from the top of her calf down to her ankle, and she tried to kick away again, but hands secured her, replacing the boot with what looked like a padded cuff as the boot came away. As they set that boot, still attached to the platform-half, aside, Marie’s toes wiggled in the air, and she knew full well why they had insisted on the pedicure: her feet were now center-stage for all to see. They removed her other boot and attached another cuff just as efficiently, and Marie looked up at her elevated feet and knew just what v-seat meant: her hips were the tip, each leg half of the V, with her feet at the top of the letter.

“Now don’t get in a hurry, Miranda. In fact, gymnastics fans, won’t you remind her why we’re here?”

This time the crowd fell in together much more quickly.

“Light and lazy, girlie crazy!
Light and lazy, girlie crazy!
Light and lazy, girlie crazy!
Light and lazy, girlie crazy!”

Marie’s heart raced as Miranda approached her feet, which the table’s V-cuffs suspended right at chest level for the sultry sadist. She licked her dark red lips as she got a good look at the feet in front of her.

“You have no idea how much this is going to tickle, Marie.”

“Please, don’t touch my feet!”

And without a moment’s hesitation, Marie screamed, but Miranda had not lifted a hand. Instead, while she watched the wife so intently, Charlie’s hands had dug into her underarms. Marie twisted in the seat, her arms still over her head, and screamed as Charlie enjoyed his ambush. Whoops of approval filled the hall, and Marie fell back into her laughing at the surprise assault.

But then Miranda’s first finger found its way down her sole.

Marie screamed in terror as her whole leg felt the tickling fingernail. Miranda’s was no idle threat; Marie had never felt anything like that. The same finger swiped a quick but light Z across her sole, and she screamed again. Charlie kept tickling her armpits, and she had no chance to brace as the single finger scratched up and down, then zig-zagging down the sole, then along the edge of the heel.

In a moment of out-of-body, ticklish awareness, Marie suddenly realized that she could hear women being tickled throughout the hall. As Miranda continued to torment her left foot and Charlie tickled under her arms, her eye picked up a change of light in the hall, and she realized that a middle-aged man was leading what might have been a second wife out into the hallway, no doubt heading for a hotel room to continue what her own torment had started. She had no time to analyze, of course: Miranda was still lightly scratching along the bottom of her foot, and she was losing her mind as each pass tickled worse than the one before.

Charlie shifted his hands down to her midsection again, and Marie squirmed as he tickled her electrified skin and forced her to laugh when she had no more in her. Miranda, on the other hand, was maneuvering towards her right foot.

A pair of light but strong fingers had grasped Marie’s right big toe, and she looked up to see Miranda’s other hand holding one of Charlie’s feathers. One hand pulled the big toe away from the second, and before Marie could decide whether to scream or not, the feather had darted between her toes. Like a mad fiddler’s bow, the feather started to saw back and forth between her toes, and her skin, whose sensitivity the boots had accelerated beyond her capacity to endure, betrayed her utterly: her whole body was one ticklish nerve, and every inch of her lit up as the feather’s terrible blade tickled skin that the wonders of science had turned into a key to her whole nervous system. The feather was barely touching her, but she was indeed going crazy by the moment.

Marie groaned through her laughter as she felt yet another indignity: Charlie’s hands had now slipped underneath her, and they were squeezing her unbearably ticklish legs right where the v-seat ended. His hands gripped the flesh where buttock had become thigh in the back, and every squeeze seemed to pull a lightning bolt out of her foot and send it right into her core, between her navel and her legs, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she laughed and squealed and moaned at all of the ticklish sensations. She now saw a steady stream of women, tickled as they tried to walk, heading for the doors with their donor-men, and she could not help but wonder what lay in store for her.

Charlie leaned in, his hands leaving her thighs for a moment but never really giving her relief, as Miranda was still scratching at her soles. He whispered in her ear as his fingers drifted up and down her ribs. “You know, this session is going to make Miranda splendidly ticklish tonight when this is over. All I have to do is say the word, and she’ll be jelly under my fingertips.” Marie had no idea how, but as he described his plans for Miranda, her feet became even more ticklish, and her own legs were becoming more and more jelly-like with each slow drag of a fingernail.

Marie kept laughing as the torment crawled along. The tickling was not wearing her out--she was a supremely conditioned athlete, and they were taking their exquisite time so as not to bring on fatigue--but now all she could hear in the dark room was her fellow women pawed and tickled, their laughter echoes of her own. Miranda no longer looked like a hungry devil; now the devil, dressed like Miranda, was tickling Marie’s feet. And Charlie’s hands now had free rein over her whole body from her thighs to her underarms, and they were taking a grand tour of every ticklish inch.

Marie could no longer decide whether the chants were out in the room or exclusively in her own mind:

“Light and lazy, girlie crazy!
Light and lazy, girlie crazy!
Light and lazy, girlie crazy!
Light and lazy, girlie crazy!”

Marie did not remember the moment when her neck surrendered and her head simply dropped backwards so that she could laugh and howl at the cruel lights above her; the next time she had a clear thought was when she heard Charlie’s voice again on the microphone and she realized he wasn’t tickling her any more:

“We want to thank you--at least those of you still in here--for coming out to this year’s Rose Technologies Cornhuskers Gymnastics banquet! Now that you’ve seen her laugh, aren’t you ready to see her compete?”

More voices than Marie would have guessed, given how many were no doubt up in their rooms tickling their wives and mistresses, let out a cheer.

“Come back next year for another demonstration of Rose Tech’s latest--we have three seniors graduating, and that will mean three who get to face the light and lazy!” Another cheer filled the room.

Marie felt the cuffs come off of her ankles, then her wrists, and she knelt down to regain her composure. Two of her teammates, whose smirks she could see as soon as they entered the light, brought what looked like a boxer’s robe and some Nebraska Cornhuskers flip-flops to her.

She quickly covered up as Charlie wrapped up the night’s performance.
 
Last edited:
Many thanks! I enjoy taking on requests from readers--it breaks me out of the plot lines that I usually take on when I write on my own.
 
Wow! This story is incredible! I love the way you built the characters and the setting. Incredible stuff!
 
What's New

3/28/2024
Stop by the TMF Welcome Forum and take a second to say hello!
Tickle Experiment
Door 44
NEST 2024
Register here
The world's largest online clip store
Live Camgirls!
Live Camgirls
Streaming Videos
Pic of the Week
Pic of the Week
Congratulations to
*** brad1701 ***
The winner of our weekly Trivia, held every Sunday night at 11PM EST in our Chat Room
Back
Top